


Back on Earth

by NightReaderEnigma



Series: An Arranged Marriage that Leads to Love [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A chaotic family lunch, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Conversations, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Bonding, Gift Fic, Implied Sexual Content, Morning After, Picks up after the events of With All My Faults and Merits, Romance, Soulmates, Tarth, Wedding night references, newlyweds in love, reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: A continuation/sequel to'With All My Faults and Merits'- but can also be read as a stand-alone.The day after their arranged wedding, deliriously happy soulmates Jaime and Brienne must emerge from their bedchamber to face some awkward conversations and a sit down lunch with their relatives.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: An Arranged Marriage that Leads to Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960768
Comments: 68
Kudos: 181
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	1. Part 1 - Awkward Meetings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilikeblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeblue/gifts).



> Surprise! This fic is a gift for my dear friend ilikeblue - who celebrated a very special birthday this week. <3
> 
> T - I'm sorry this is a few days late! I have been working on it ever since you hinted for a continuation which showed the reactions of the family the next day (and trying desperately to throw you off the scent of what I was doing, LOL) :)  
> Happy birthday! I really hope this doesn't disappoint - this genre is not my forte and it is probably filled with errors which we can laugh about later (I only just finished it and I am posting - editing? What is editing?) - but I wholeheartedly wanted to try and make your birthday request come true.  
> Hugs my friend! 
> 
> And to all other readers - whilst I was working on this in secret, I was so excited to read the comments requesting a continuation. Tah dah! Instant delivery. LOL

[][][][] _**BRIENNE**_ [][][][]

“I can’t.” Brienne shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight, fingers recoiling from the doorknob as if the metal would scald her. “Jaime, I don’t know how I’m going to face him.”

Her new husband’s chuckles offered little in the way of comfort. “The same way every newlywed, former maiden in the history of mankind has before you.” He sidled up behind her, slipping both arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “This may only be the third day I have spent in your marvellous company, but I know my Wench is courageous and does not shrink. Besides – I have to speak with my Father too.”

“That is completely and utterly different.” She groaned, letting herself sink into his embrace. “I am his only daughter; his little girl. Father raised me alone since as early as I can remember. How am I to face him when I spent the last ten hours…”

“Fucking?” Jaime volunteered helpfully, earning himself an elbow to the ribs. He _‘oomphed’_ and winced, but it did little to abate his mirth. “I deserved that. Well played wife.” 

“I’m sorry, but you’re not helping my nerves. Surely you must concede the clear distinction between _your_ having to inform Lord Tywin of the good news that his contract is binding, and _my_ having to face my Father and Septa Roelle…” Brienne’s eyes popped open, almost bulging out of her head in horror, a strangled squeak of dread escaping her throat. “Gods – I forgot about Septa Roelle.” 

“Is that the same Septa who launched a one-woman campaign against concupiscence…?” Now he chortled, blasts of hot air and his freshly minted breath washing over her neck and cheek. Finally, after much convincing, Jaime was clothed and groomed. Looking every bit the presentable, respectable Lord. 

_How appearances can be deceiving, just a quarter of an hour ago he was lounging on the bedspread, naked as his name day making all kinds of lurid suggestions._

“…If so, tell her I send my regards but wish to inform her that you have been re-educated.”

Jaime nibbled the spot behind her ear and she squirmed, her entire body highly strung and confused. Antsy, sensitized, tired, happy and utterly consumed with eroticism. Every kiss turning her legs to jelly, peaking her nipples and sending her thoughts to the covers. His gentle nips eliciting a fresh torrent of desire in her even now, its tidal wave coursing southward and threatening to undo all her progress thus far. 

Swiftly Brienne had learnt that her hunger for Jaime held immeasurable powers, possessing the ability to overwhelm her anxiousness and evaporate logical thinking. 

_Thank goodness the brightening daylight glares the lateness of the hour, an unmissable beacon of obligation to keep me on my course._

The staff had knocked thrice – not three raps with one knuckle, no. Three separate instances of them coming and going again, receiving no answer from the romping newlyweds within. The knowledge nagged at Brienne, their possible thoughts and relayed observations gnawing at her brain, compelling her to leave their piece of paradise and stop a fourth incident from occurring. 

But at the same time, the thought of bursting their bubble saddened her, drifting slowly back down to earth from their euphoria amidst the clouds. Their first morning as a married couple a moment in time she wished to prolong. Basking forever in their haven of declared love and sweet, sensual ardour. 

Then a third probability – that the attendants had _heard_ them. Witnessed the murmurs and moans, the giggles and sighs. Known what they had been doing, and readily explained to their waiting sires the reason both Jaime and Brienne had not emerged from their bridal chamber. 

_I am never leaving; I can never leave. What if they heard my cries of ecstasy and encouragement? Relayed to Father how I was so busy begging Jaime for ‘more, more’ that I would likely be occupied well into the afternoon. I can’t look him in the eye ever again._

Brienne was aware that her despair and embarrassment was a girlish indulgence, born of youthful melodrama and general humiliation. She also knew, that her attentive husband would readily nurture her hesitation if it resulted in them remaining sequestered away.

_I may have received two seconds of reassurance, but he has spent the last few minutes giving me incentive to stay in…_

His lips were heavenly against her neck, travelling down and worsening the dark marks which she had already become frantic about. The welts on her ivory skin left by his enthusiastic sucking, her pale complexion shouting their carnality, proudly exhibiting the spots where mouth and skin had melded. The areas numerous and unable to be denied. 

Then there were the patches of rash beside them, the prickly heat raised to the surface by the repetitive grazing of his stubble. Her throat had never needed to build up resistance from chaffing, the flesh tender, seldom exposed to more that the errant collision with her hairbrush or the soft cushioning of a shawl. Leaving it vulnerable and easily irritated when compared to the rest of her tough exterior. 

Yesterday she had foreseen the risk his beard and nips would pose, thinking ahead and thwarting the eventuation of tell-tale discolouration before the ceremony. But in the rush of passion of her wedding night, such cautious thoughts had been tossed to the wayside.

When she was getting dressed – after many false starts where she had been wrestled back into the bed by an incredibly frisky lion - Brienne had made the startling discovery of his love bites. Yanking desperately upon the square collar of her gown in the hopes of covering them up. Her husband had guffawed, telling her it was as pointless as the night he had grappled with his short sleeve. 

Jaime was correct of course - the material unforgiving - and Brienne had been forced to wear her shoulder length hair out, parting it in the centre of her scalp and pulling it over her shoulders like a curtain.

The fix was flimsy, inherently flawed, and she resolved to walk exceedingly stiffly for the rest of the day in order to prevent her hair from falling aside.

_Now Jaime is making the bruises brighter, more obvious._

_And all he is making me want to do is return to the mattress and cradle him in my thighs…_

_No, no, no…this must stop. We are being heedless and we are only compounding what they must be thinking. Enough weakness. Enough seduction. This ends now. Before they knock another time and the shame from my lack of self-restraint will force us to move to Essos._

“That’s it!” Heaving herself out of Jaime’s arms in one forward thrust, she seized the doorknob in an iron grip. Turning around to see her lion pout, green eyes sulking like a child deprived of his favourite toy.

“I knew your responsible side would kick in.” He grumbled. “I had hoped we could get in just one more tumble…” 

“Tonight.” Brienne promised, “As a reward for my bravery and your self-control.” Stretching as far as she could without releasing the handle, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hauling herself away when he tried to deepen the contact.

 _Infuriating, tempting man._ “We are leaving this room - _now_.”

Turning the key in the lock and swinging the door open wide, her jaw dropped when she came face to face with two older housemaids, their expressions serious and unsmiling. 

Brienne recognised neither woman, though one was dressed in the customary uniform of Evenfall’s household staff, her greying hair swept up in a tight bun indicative of a position of higher authority. The other was similarly attired, but the fabric and style notably grander, the red and gold garb denoting her as a representative of House Lannister. 

With a curt nod they muttered, “My Lord, My Lady.” Before sweeping straight past them and into the room. 

“What in the world?” Brienne pivoted on her heel, ready to question their rude behaviour but Jaime gently turned her back around, guiding her down the hallway while she protested. “But Jaime – they were waiting for us to emerge; they must have been the one’s knocking. How inconsiderate and impertinent…” 

“They have been sent by our Fathers.” Her husband explained in hushed tones. 

“Why? What do they want?” 

Jaime bit his lip sympathetically, widening his eyes and slowly mouthing. “To check.” 

“Check?” Brienne cocked her head to the side and squinted, not understanding. 

“For evidence…” Waving his hand in the air, he waited for her to catch on before spelling it out. “… of a successful bedding. It will be their job to report back.” 

“Oh Gods…” Mortified, she buried her forehead into Jaime’s shoulder, greatly comforted when she felt his arms wrap tightly around her, shielding her from the crass realities of the world they lived in. 

“My love…” He crooned to her softly. “…as soon as we get this grisly, embarrassing business over with, we will be free. It is only a meeting each and then a family lunch. After that, we can go to the yard and cross swords – just the two of us.” 

“You are right, there is little use in prolonging the inevitable.” Sighing she nodded, straightening and fixing her hair back in place against her throat. “Onwards we charge, into the belly of the beast.” Resolved, Brienne pecked his cheek. “I will see you at table my husband.” 

“And I you wife.” Jaime kissed her hand and then flashed her a wicked grin. “You know – I was thinking… Once the formal aspects of these meetings are finalised, there is no reason we cannot have some fun during lunch.”

“That depends on what you had in mind...” Brienne gestured for him to follow and they began walking together to the staircase, curious to hear whatever intrigue he was concocting before they parted ways. “...But I’m listening…”

[][][][][][][][]

“Hello Father-” Entering Lord Selwyn’s solar, Brienne painfully realised she didn’t know whether it was morning or afternoon, choosing a general greeting in place of a salutation which reflected the hour. “- I am sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Not at all Brienne,” he rose out of his armchair, hastily dropping the papers he had been examining. “I know that the last few days have been quite overwhelming, do not give it a moment’s thought. I am happy to wait.” 

Standing before each other, the awkwardness was tangible. The unsaid floating heavily in the atmosphere, the air so thick is could be sliced with a dagger. 

Brienne chose a spot on her Father’s face where she felt comfortable to let her gaze linger, feeling sheepish about meeting his eyeline. She tactically selected his chin as a safe region, studying the greying bristles of his beard – until that reminded her of Jaime’s stubble and where it tickled…

Snapping her eyes up, she refocussed upon his nose, hoping to goodness her newly licentious subconscious wouldn’t find another risqué association. 

Meanwhile, Lord Selwyn shuffled his feet, making small noises in his throat as he searched for a way to commence their conversation. Beginning quietly with a hint of sadness in his tone, “I suppose I shouldn’t have greeted you like that – considering your new rank. I should have addressed you as Lady Lannister.”

“Father you cannot be serious – marriage has not changed me, always and forever I will be your Brienne.” The idea that he would place a divide in station between them twisted her heartstrings. “I would be distraught if you called me by any other title.” 

“I’m sorry.” Misinterpreting the reason behind her upset he continued. “I did not mean to rub salt into wounds. I know you never pictured yourself as a Lion of the Rock. But it certainly took the courage of a lioness to do what you did for our people.” He motioned towards the chair opposite his own and Brienne lowered herself into it vigilantly, watching her locks out of her peripheral vision, ensuring they stayed put. 

_This is strange, never have we been so ill at ease._

Keeping her posture straight, she soon discovered how difficult it was to avoid eye contact when sitting, her stare flicking between her Father’s hands clasped atop his knees, to the furrow of his bushy brows. 

“I know this is a terribly difficult conversation for both of us – please know that I relish it no more than you do.” 

“I understand.” Brienne nodded, “Ask what you must, so we can get this unpleasantness behind us.” 

The creases on his forehead deepened and she wondered what had added to his distress. 

“Very well Brienne, I will keep my enquiry brief and succinct. I assume you have lain with your new husband? The staffer I sent along with the Lannister representative has returned with her report, but I have not seen her. I would rather hear it from you.” 

She swallowed; eyes fluttering closed of their own accord. “I have.” 

“You are aware that consummation has made your marriage indissoluble, thus finalising the terms set out by Lord Tywin and sanctifying your union in the opinion of the Faith?” 

“I am.” 

“So – it is official. The people of Tarth are saved… and you are theirs…” Brienne’s lids retreated when her Father’s voice hitched at the end of his statement, concern prompting her to assess his demeanour. 

Only twice had she heard such an inflection in his timbre – once in a snippet of memory from when she was just a tot attending the funeral of her Mother and sisters, and again when Galladon never emerged from the riptide. 

“I am sorry Brienne. Deeply sorry.” He breathed out an apology and the extent of his remorse was unsettling, emotion winning out over a man who had always prided himself on maintaining composure. “When you accepted Lord Lannister’s hand so willingly two days ago, I rejoiced within. I wanted to believe that he would make you a good husband, even if I knew your feelings on the matter. I fooled myself - to live with myself. For there was no other way out of our bind. But now, the guilt eats at me. I have observed Lord Tywin, I have watched the Queen – they are a horrible family, empty of chest and devoid of qualms. I wanted to monitor your Lord husband as well - but I was afraid of what I might see. Necessity made a poor judge out of me and now I must hand you over to them…” 

“Father…don’t.” The torment in his speech banished all her shyness, causing her to reach for his aged and weathered hand. “It is alright – honestly.” 

“Brienne – you are so selfless, but I do not need your absolution. In this I must wear my sin…” 

“I am not being kind; I am being truthful.” _Please do not despair, your anguish is unfounded._ “I am happy in my match.” 

Lord Selwyn blinked, shaking his head despondently. “I know that cannot be true – it was only a few moments ago you didn’t even want to hear your new title. Couldn’t bear to speak of your marital duties…” 

_That’s why he frowned, he miscomprehended._

“No – I’m sorry Father but you have it wrong.” Brienne exhaled, realising how their communication went awry, mentally arranging the pieces required to set it to rights again. “Well, not entirely incorrect - Cersei and Tywin are wretched. Jaime will tell you that himself when you get to know him better.” She ducked her head, peering out timidly from beneath her lashes and brows. Feeling the whole of nine years old again and confessing to him she had been involved in a scuffle with the boys down in the practise yard. Ripped dress, bloodied knees, but she’d won and taught them all a lesson. 

It had always been hard for Brienne to frame her feelings, her thick tongue stalling whenever she needed to speak from the heart. Inhibition rooted deeply in her veins, the instinct to conceal favourable over expressing her emotions aloud. 

_Years ago, I found the words, persuading him to let me train. Explaining that I was not a little Lady content to sit at my embroidery and let my Father fight my battles, defend me from my tormentors._

_Although it was difficult, I convinced him. And now it must repeat. He needs to know that the woman before him loves her husband, that I am not weeping in my bower, dreading when I am left alone with my new lover…_

Inhaling a deep lungful of air, she tried to calm her thundering pulse. 

_Be as valiant now as you were then._

“Father - I have come to know Ser Jaime very well since we first met, and I must impart that all my beliefs about his character were erroneous. He is honourable, kind, chivalrous, generous and honest. When the match was first announced - never would I have foreseen our attachment – yet here I sit, assuring you that such an affinity not only exists… but it prospers. My husband and I have grown close, developing a rapport over only three days which most do not manifest in years of an acquaintance…” 

_Be strong, he needs to know._

“…Along with my vows yesterday, I also gave my heart - receiving Jaime’s in return. And I was very glad to be a wife to him last night. There was no duress, nor displeasure on my part.” Finding her pluck, she looked up, gazing into the pair of eyes which slightly resembled her own. “I love him.”

“Truly?” Slate saucers gaped back at her, doubt, hope and paternal affection forming a picture of her Father she would never forget. A precious vision to remind her how much she was loved, an image to call upon whenever he was reticent. A glimpse of softness in the patriarch of the stoic Tarth line. 

A small smile tugged at her oversized lips, as she realised how greatly her happiness mattered in the grander scheme. How the adoration and devotion she had found in Jaime would bring joy to more than just the pair of them. Spreading and extending outwards to the people they cared about, passing it on to the future generations to come. Their children who would be blessed to be raised and moulded in an environment filled with love. 

_That is quite the accomplishment, which holds many possibilities…_

Brienne nodded, ideas taking wing in her mind, heart soaring with the seabirds on high. 

“Truly.”

[][][][] _ **JAIME**_ [][][][]

“Father.” Jaime knew his greeting was brusque, but he had no desire to engage in idle chit-chat. All too aware that this audience was not a bonding moment between Father and son, but a business meeting. Transactional and clinical. 

_So, let’s cut straight to the point._

“Jaime.” Tywin barely glanced up from his bundle of documents, inclining his bald head towards the seat at the opposite side of the desk. Continuing to peruse and sign the contracts before him – ink and parchment of greater importance than his son’s presence. 

_It has always been the same._

Scraping the chair backwards instead of lifting, Jaime gave a smirk of satisfaction when the wooden legs generated an excruciating screech as they grated against the polished floorboards. The sound a deliberate attempt to vex his detached Father and force him to give Jaime’s presence the recognition it was due. However, he was largely unsurprised when his theatrics received little reaction, plonking himself unceremoniously down, resigned to his insignificance. 

_I wonder what it’s like to have a Father?_

_Maybe Lord Selwyn will find something to embrace about me once he sees that his daughter is happy. I would very much enjoy being part of a family that has warm blood in their veins in place of ice, stone and alcohol._

Drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, Jaime sighed. Often it felt as if half his life had been spent waiting for the great Tywin Lannister to grant him a second of his precious time. 

_Even if he was the one who requested my attendance._

The silence was deafening, the tapping of his digits accompanied only by the nib scratching against the page, the quill’s plumed end fluttering and twirling as his Father endorsed yet another document. 

Finally, Jaime’s temper wore thin. “I will point out that you asked me here - demanded it in fact. The least you could do is acknowledge me.”

“That is quite insolent of you considering the hour. I believe I requested an early morning briefing, not for you to waltz in here at your leisure.” Tywin’s tone was level, his disinterest plain, green eyes flicking back and forth, reading lines on the contract before him. 

_He is punishing me._

“One would think you’d be pleased –” Jaime remarked dryly. “-I spent the morning with my wife. Was the consecration of our marriage not your top priority?” 

“It was…” His Father agreed and Jaime awaited the criticism that he knew was coming. “…last night. This morning the urgency lay in being informed of the successful bedding so that the agreements could be finalised. As it was, due to your unreliability, I had to depend upon confirmation from the representative I sent to the bridal chamber. Even that was a trial however, as the first three times her knocks went unanswered.” 

Jaime shook his head in disbelief, raising an eyebrow and playing his trump card. “You won’t be complaining if our late emergence results in an heir though - will you?” 

_Not that I’d want you anywhere near Brienne and my child – but I best not voice those sentiments just yet._

Tywin’s gaze moved upwards, finally acknowledging him with eye contact. 

_Got you Father._

“Very well.” The older lion lay the quill upon the desktop, steepling his fingers. “I already know the outcome but you may as well corroborate the report… your bedding was successful?”

“Yes.” Jaime purposefully kept his response to a single word, unwilling to supply his Father with any additional details. “Our union is consummated and binding.”

Tywin gave him a cursory nod, his tone flat and phlegmatic. “Just as well.” Then his attention was gone, lost back to the importance of his paperwork.

_It’s for the best._

Rising from his chair, Jaime couldn’t resist delivering some parting words. “So - be sure to give the Tarths their promised coin. They have upheld their end of the bargain and a Lannister always pays his debts.” 

“Naturally.” Tywin continued his methodical process of reading and signing, failing to register the implication behind his son’s message. “The gold is on a ship just off the coast – I have already sent a raven to its Captain, instructing him to sail into the harbour and hand over the funds.” 

“I should have known; you are always very punctual.” The irony was seeping into his voice, the amusement at his own private jape mounting at rapid speed.

_Oh Father – you think yourself so wise, but you missed that one._

Jaime was almost at the exit when Tywin called out. 

“Wait…”

Turning slowly, Jaime bit his lips to supress his glee. 

_Finally figured it out, hey?_

His Father’s brow was furrowed, the annoyance and perturbation in his expression the best gift Jaime could possibly imagine. “…How do you know about the financial arrangement?” 

The younger lion shrugged, shoving his hand and stump in his pockets nonchalantly. “How do you think Father?” 

“Did one of my financial advisers leak the information? If we have a traitor in our midst I need to know.” 

_Narrow sighted man. The most obvious solution is so unthinkable to you, that you would jump straight to conspiracy and betrayal._

“No…there are no turncloaks or informers in your staff.” Jaime stared his Father down smugly and shrugged. “My wife and I talk.” 

He savoured the shock in Tywin’s face before striding from the room with his head held high. 

[][][][] _**BRIENNE**_ [][][][]

Brienne slowed her gait, her eagerness to arrive at the lunch hall and return to Jaime’s side suddenly downgraded to second importance. The two figures chatting at the end of the corridor presenting an opportunity she could not ignore. 

Gradually but surely, treasured breathing space and privacy was returning to the stronghold she called home. The guests and courtiers who had invaded their peaceful island, beginning to return from whence they came. Their belongings carefully packed into chests and loaded aboard galleons of various sizes down by the harbour. The winding pathways leading from the castle clogged with a steady stream of travellers and staff, like ants returning to their mound when rain was imminent. 

Brienne and her Father had stood on his balcony watching, their stare trained upon one particular ship docking down at the pier. The only vessel coming whilst the rest were going, its cargo the most precious of all. 

_Salvation for our people. An influx of Lannister gold…_

Father and daughter had embraced, breathing a sigh of mutual relief, and the former Maid of Tarth had set out to tell her beloved husband the good news, winding her way through far emptier hallways, the odds of stumbling across dignitaries she knew and being waylaid with conversation significantly lessened. 

_Which means this chance encounter is providential…_

The only remaining parties who lingered, were those directly linked to the royal family. Biding their time until after the formal lunch had been conducted in order to travel with the King. 

Taking a deep breath, Brienne smoothed her skirt, checking the fall of her hair for the umpteenth time and reminding herself that she was at least familiar with one of the men who dotted her path. 

_Though it is the other I wish to speak with._

“Lord Renly, Lord Hand – a fine day to you both, I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Evenfall for the festivities.”

“Lady Lannister!” Renly’s smile was warm as ever, his green doublet highlighting the matching shade in his ever-changing eyes, blue one minute, moss the next. “Congratulations once again on your marriage and yes – my visits to Tarth are always pleasant, Lord Selwyn is a most gracious host.” 

“We do what we can My Lord. Be our resources limited or times trying, never will it be said we fell short in providing hospitality.” She was grateful for Renly’s presence, breaking the ice and helping her to converse smoothly, all too aware of Eddard’s grey and sombre demeanour just two steps away. 

“Have you met Lord Stark?” Renly enquired, gesturing between them. _He recalls my penchant for shyness._ “I do not know if you have been formally introduced…”

The Lord Hand nodded respectfully, finally speaking. “Lady Lannister and I made each other’s acquaintance during the meet and greet before her engagement banquet-” Brienne nodded her agreement. “-Though we have not had the opportunity to converse at length.”

_No, we have not._

“Very true Lord Stark.” She kept her expression pleasant but neutral, searching for advantageous windows within the conversation. Knowing the direction, she needed to steer them in but uncertain how to navigate the rocks. 

_If only I were more socially adept._

“Well in that case – Ned and I here were just discussing how I have unwittingly triggered a chain reaction for myself. No good deed goes unpunished, isn’t that what they say?” Renly chuckled. 

“Not quite.” Eddard displayed naught in the way of humour, choosing to study her instead. A serious set to his jaw and sympathy in his gaze. It instantly irked Brienne, his look the kind she had been receiving for years whenever someone beheld her unattractive features. 

_I do not appreciate when people view me with pity._

Masking her displeasure, she turned her attention back to Renly. “How do you mean?”

“I am expected down by the docks – actually I was expected near on half an hour ago. Not only am I to sail back to Storm’s End, but from there I am to journey onwards to Highgarden. It seems that my involvement in organising an arranged marriage has resulted in a similar outcome for myself.” 

“You are to be wed?” Brienne tried not to snicker, mentally tallying the broad spectrum of evolution her emotions had gone through. 

_A month ago, I would have been devastated at the idea of Renly marrying another._

_A fortnight ago, I would have thought it equitable retribution for the sentence he had inflicted upon me._

Now she just thought it amusing. 

_Take heart Renly, it may prove to be the best thing to happen in your life. I know it was that way for me._

“…should I offer my congratulations now, or withhold them for the official announcement?”

“Withhold them. Please.” He widened his eyes dramatically. “This is just an initial meeting; nothing is yet set in stone.” 

“Are you familiar with your intended maiden?” Lord Stark asked. 

“No, no, I have not met Lady Margaery. However, her brother Ser Loras was my Squire for years, so I am not a stranger to the family.”

“Perhaps it will turn out well for you.” Brienne smiled kindly. “Especially if you are already on good terms with the House.” 

“It is all yet to be seen.” He sighed somewhat despondently before collecting himself, his usual chipper gaiety returning with a flash. “But I must go bid farewell to my Kingly brother and make my way to the harbour before they send an escort to drag me aboard.” 

Turning to them both and bowing, Renly declared. “Ned – I leave you in very honourable company. Lady Brienne is exactly the sort of person of whom you will actually approve.” Grinning at her he added. “And Lady Lannister – I am very pleased I could help arrange a match for you.” His speech turned into a conspiratorial whisper. “Many a year I have spent around the Red Keep and you do learn things – Ser Jaime is not all bad. He is rather jocular, enjoys a laugh and is quite the conversationalist. Which is more than I can say for present company.” Lord Stark huffed but Brienne was exultant. 

_Renly doesn’t hate Jaime._ The realisation was amazing, bolstering her bravado for what she was planning. _Perhaps he didn’t just arrange our match for the monetary aspect..._

“And I wish to thank you Lord Renly, sincerely.” Brienne gave a bow of her own. “Not only has my marriage aided the people of Tarth, but it has brought me more happiness that I could ever have imagined. I am delighted with my husband – all you say about him is true.”

“Then mayhaps I should go into matchmaking… though in truth I can’t take all the credit. Things seem to have gone as they needed to and let’s just hope in a few moons turns I can declare the same.” 

“I wish you much contentment. You had a great input in brokering mine.” Out of her peripheral vision, she spied Lord Stark’s raised eyebrows. 

After Renly took his leave, they descended into quiet. Two naturally uncommunicative souls stuck in an impasse of hush. 

But within Brienne’s brain was abuzz, trying to summon the gall and meticulous phrasing which would get her intended message across. 

_I would be loath to miss this chance in a million. I could not forgive myself such failure, especially not if the cause was my timidity reigning supreme._

Fortuitously, she wasn’t the one to interrupt their silence, the Hand of the King offering the opening phrase. 

“You are courteous to thank Lord Renly so profusely when all aspects of your match are considered.” 

Brienne rotated in place, staring down from her tall height at the older man before her, furrowing her brow and requesting clarification. “What is your meaning Lord Stark?”

“Simply that I – unlike Lord Renly – see the affliction of your matrimony. Please do not mistake me, I commend your dedication to duty and your people. I have been told you are an upstanding woman and Renly himself speaks very highly of you. But that fact only emphasises the misfortune of your match. I have discussed it with Lord Selwyn since arriving here on Tarth – being a Father myself I could understand the difficulty of his predicament. How it must have been very hard to part with his only child to a man such as Jaime Lannister. From a personal note, I feel more inclined to offer you apologies and commiserations than congratulations and to enquire while we are unaccompanied – if his treatment of you has been respectable thus far?”

Inside her blood boiled, the sting of the slights against her beloved husband injuring her more greatly than if Eddard had insulted her directly. The slice of his words leaving her raw, nerves exposed to the painful cruelty of his disregard. 

_My Jaime is a part of me. I carry his heart in mine. I carry his seed in my womb and for all I know soon I will be carrying his child. The wound of Lord Stark’s implication is agonising. And although I know he means me well – he does not realise Jaime and I are connected._

_I fully intended having my small say, conveying my thoughts on his damnation of my husband, leaving him a small snippet to stew upon._

_But now – seeming as he has opened the floodgates for frankness – I will set him straight._

“I fear you are gravely mistaken Lord Stark.” There was steel in her gaze but it glowed red hot from the forges of love’s fire. “I am genuinely over the moon with my new husband, and I wish to thank everyone involved in arranging our union – in fact I intend to over lunch.” 

“Once again, your manners are exemplary and your gratitude will surely be welcomed. You will provide a convenient avenue for them to alleviate their consciences, however that does not negate the lifetime you will spend with an oathbreaker.” 

“In all due respect Lord Hand, I would ask you to refrain from referencing Ser Jaime in such a manner, most especially in my presence. It is not only derogatory but it is also misinformed.” 

“And in return, in all due respect Lady Brienne – although once again I find your loyalty to your new spouse laudable - you cannot deny his crimes.” 

“Deny? – No. Look further than what is immediately apparent and take all factors into consideration before passing judgment on a person? – Yes.” Brienne squared her shoulders, angling her chin in determination - _I have his attention, its now or never_. “In unvarnished, unbiased truth - Ser Jaime is the most honourable man I have ever met and I feel sorry for anyone who does not know the real him – the loss is truly theirs.” 

Eddard shifted his weight from foot to foot, weighing her certainty, searching for cracks in her delivery which would imply hidden opinions at odds with the claims pouring from her mouth. 

_Seek – you shall not find. You have been told I am moral and righteous. You should know I would not lie._

After a beat he responded.“You speak with conviction My Lady – after all I’ve heard of you, I am surprised to find you so in favour of your Lord husband.” 

“My burdens in life have taught me to peer beyond what is immediately apparent. To peel back the curtain of pretence and to seek the human spirit hidden beneath the veil. That is true in the case of an unsightly face, and it is equally as valid when you explore a soul behind infamy. Both are just surface personas, neither give an honest insight to the character of the person. In truth - it was my husband who pointed out the parallel between us, he grows weary of being convicted by censorious glances and misapprehensions.” 

Lord Stark flinched as though he’d been struck, recovering quickly but conceding some ground. “I must confess, that lately I am experiencing the phenomena of which you speak firsthand – learning that in the South things are not always as they initially appear. What seems perfect on the surface, often hides insidiousness and corruption…” 

_The Queen, the children. He is referring to the affairs and incest._

“…but now you wish me to believe that the reverse could also be applied? That those who have long been branded blackhearted, tarnished and irredeemable, could in fact be concealing purity of motive?” 

Brienne let the corner of her lips tilt marginally upwards, indicating that he was on the right track. “Everyone has a story to tell Lord Hand, some are just more complex than others. Damaged by the things they’ve seen, tainted by choosing wrong to make a right…” 

_Now he is on the hook, time to offer the bait._

“…I do not want to overstep my bounds but if I could make a suggestion. Perhaps – before you leave Evenfall - you should take the time to ask my husband about the tragic fate of your Father and Brother.” 

Lord Stark’s jaw slackened in disbelief. “He was there?” 

When she nodded, Eddard raked his hand over his beard. “I thought all witnesses were dead, gone. I have always wanted to know the truth of what happened to them.” 

“Jaime would gladly tell you many a thing Lord Stark – if you care to listen.” Bowing politely, she drew the conversation to a close, mentally congratulating herself on accomplishing her goal. “If you’ll excuse me, I am expected at lunch and I do not wish to leave my new husband waiting.”

“Of course.” The Hand of the King was deep in thought, no doubt ruminating over what she had said. “I bid you a good day Lady Brienne and…” A shadow of a smile crossed his face, the phenomena fleeting and slight, only detectable if you were paying close attention. “…one day you should meet my wife Catelyn. I think she’d like you.” 


	2. Part 2:  Family Luncheon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I get a little carried away? - Yes, but it sure was fun!  
> I apologise for any errors in the ensuing chaos upfront. LOL 
> 
> T - So if I remember correctly - the request for this scene included a PDA, Cersei's lightbulb moment and those lovebites to be seen? ;) And…. I even made that seating plan I was joking about – voila!
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/50441188931/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> Disclaimer: I actually have no idea how their positions should technically have been arranged, I just wrote it how I imagined it and pretended it was in line with etiquette. ROFL

[][][][] _**JAIME**_ [][][][]

Brienne entered the room like a ray of sunlight, the warmth of her presence lighting his life and making him beam. Jaime hovered anxiously behind the pair of chairs allocated to them, pulling his wife's back and kissing her softly upon greeting. “There you are my Wench - I was waiting for you before I sat down.” 

“Such the gentleman –” Spying her father sitting at the opposite side of the table she silently mouthed ‘now,’ the twinkle in her sapphires suggestive and smug. 

_Thinking about our carnal exploits wife? We are of one mind after all - for my thoughts have seldom been elsewhere._

His gaze traced her strategically placed hair. “I am known to be, when the mood takes me....” Jaime ran his hand up Brienne’s arm as she took her seat, letting it rest upon her broad shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

_She was so stressed when we left our chamber, but now she seems relaxed and calm._

“...I have been chatting with your Father.”

“What glad tidings-” Her expression erupted in a smile, peering across the expanse of oak at her sire whilst Jaime settled himself beside her, cheekily slipping his stumped arm around her waist. “-I was hoping the two of you would get some alone time.” 

“Ser Jaime is my good-son now, even if there weren’t a free hour available in my schedule - I would make it possible.” The Evenstar observed them with kindness and avid interest, absorbing the full picture of them as a pair. From their joyous faces to their posture, leaning as close to each other as they could. “Anyone who makes my Brienne smile like that – is worth getting to know.” 

Jaime bowed his head, uncertain how to process this unprecedented feeling of acceptance. Hearth and homefires kindling within, making him toasty inside. The sense of completion elating him, the notion of belonging too sublime to be real. 

_I am a part of a couple. Brienne wants me, her Father has welcomed me into the fold. Does this mean I am already part of the family?_

Intuitively Brienne placed her large hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The grip of each digit grounding and centring him in his newfound world, the gold wedding band which encircled her ring finger glinting in the light filtering in through the high windows. 

He gazed up at his wife, so tall and proud he had to incline his head upwards to appreciate all the details of her subtle, unique appeal. The aspects of herself she didn’t see as comely, but to him were more endearing than any conventional definition of beauty. 

_Especially when she smiles – her Father was right about that – anything that brings that spectacular, unassuming, uninhibited grin to her face is worth three times the amount of coin my Father has contributed to Tarth’s treasury…_

But then the double doors opened wide, and her smile vanished into thin air. The unmistakable clack of heels and determined clomp of boots heralding the new arrivals before the crier even had the chance.

_Damn them. They ruin every good thing in my life._

“King Robert Baratheon first of his name, Queen Cersei Lannister and Lord Tywin of House Lannister.”

 _Better late than never to warn us._

Jaime cringed, donning his set of emotional armour, watching Brienne’s invisible, protective walls raise on instinct. 

_Already my wife knows to shield herself whenever my kin enters a room - we share the same processes of self-fortification. Gods know in the past it was the only thing which provided my protection and kept me sane._

_Only now I have a partner at my flank and an ally across the room. Power in numbers and supportive ties...it is a felicitous change._

Mischief and boldness sparked in the sections of his brain reserved exclusively for stirring the pot. 

_I wonder if my dear wife remembers what we talked about earlier…_

As one, the trio raised from their chairs, the practise of greeting the royals ritualistic and routine, exchanging terse civilities and deferential bows before all took their seats. 

“And me! I have arrived.” Tyrion bustled through the closing doors, waving dismissively to the aghast herald and adding wryly. “No need to announce me, please don’t trouble yourself. Everyone stay sitting, it is only I.” 

“Who invited you?!” Cersei demanded, the time and effort put into her appearance rendered utterly pointless when her internal ugliness could not be contained. The splendour of her burgundy gown instantly overpowered by the contortion of her face; the intricate sweeping style of her hair lost to the dominating curl of her lip. 

“I did.” With his left-hand, Jaime pulled out the chair beside him, unwilling to remove his right arm from Brienne's waist, but still managing to make room for his beloved younger sibling. 

_Not that it should matter, I can be as demonstrative with my Lady as I wish, be as welcoming to my brother as I see fit. However, I know I am being monitored, as per usual…_

Tywin was seated across from him, his placement at table carefully thought out according to the rules of propriety, placing him next to Selwyn so they could share joint honours as Fathers of the newlyweds. 

But it gave him a prime view of Jaime’s actions, and he could feel the appraisal in Tywin’s stare. Narrow slits scrutinising his body language, analysing the familiarity and protectiveness the younger lion exuded around his new wife. 

_Let him watch, mayhaps he’ll be educated. See anything surprising Father? Though it shouldn’t bewilder you after my earlier hint._

_My woman and I are more comfortable with each other than you knew. If you thought our match would bring us unhappiness – then you were sorely mistaken._

_And I will not be withdrawing my public affections just because you disapprove of tactile displays._

Delivering his point with a hammer blow, he drew Brienne a tiny touch closer, heartened when she shifted in place so their thighs pressed flush beneath the table. The solidity of the contact making him secure, satisfied enough to disregard his Father and instead tune back in to the flurry of jibes being rapidly fired between his siblings. 

“So sorry to disappoint Cersei, but last I checked I was a blood relative.” His younger brother shrugged, offering phony sympathy which only served to increase Cersei’s sneer.

“If I had known I was expected to tolerate your company I wouldn’t have come!” 

“Did you hear that brother?” Tyrion reached up, slapping Jaime’s bicep playfully with the back of his hand. “Now we know for next time!” 

“Father – do you see what I am subjected to!” Cersei knew petitioning her husband would be of little use, instead turning to Tywin. Sounding more like a whinging little girl than a fully-grown monarch. “He is disrespectful! To _me –_ his Queen!”

“Tyrion – this luncheon is a sophisticated affair. I would suggest you leave your antagonistic predilections outside or remove yourself entirely.” Lord Tywin was unmatched in his cold aloofness towards his youngest son. “I will not have you shaming us through an inability to hold your tongue.” 

_He would blame Tyrion, when it was entirely Cersei’s doing._

“Actually Father – considering this lunch is held in honour of the official joining of our two houses and families, I think casting out one of your own children would be viewed as the greater source of shame…” 

_A wise man would keep his mouth shut and not insert himself into the middle of their arguments – but I have never been accused of being wise._

“…Considering Brienne and I are the guests of honour and _I_ specifically invited Tyrion to sit at my side - I would suggest it is those that take issue with present company who should perhaps make themselves scarce – you know, to ease the friction.” He raised his eyebrows theatrically, knowing full well that all at table were aware he referred to Cersei. To his surprise, Robert snorted, quelling a bark of laughter. 

“When your input is required Jaime - it will be asked for.” His Father glared at him, but it ricocheted straight off his transparent cuirass. 

_I have seen that glare so much in the last few days, honestly it is growing ineffectual and tiresome._

“I am asking for Jaime’s input!” Tyrion raised his hand, shooting their Queenly sister a maniacal grin and gesturing for the servers to pour. “And I for one second his notion.” Turning to Jaime with imploring miss-matched eyes he muttered. “Just tell me this isn’t a dry event; I don’t think I could stomach it.”

“ **Hear, hear**!” Jaime and Tyrion both startled at Robert’s booming agreement, unaware that the King had overheard. _Note to self – there is no privacy at this table._ “Selwyn –” The monarch commanded. “-I will be requiring Hair of the Dog.” 

His good-father blinked, obviously taken aback by their reliance upon liquor at all hours of the day. Collecting himself, before courteously replying. “Certainly, no trouble at all.” The Evenstar signalled the servers, “Fetch a selection of vintages from the cellar for his Grace and the Lannisters.”

To his right, Brienne was gaping, lips parted wordlessly, radiating appal. 

_I know my sweetling - the Tarths are not drinkers. It is nearly unthinkable to place flagons upon the lunch table._

Using his trick from their wedding Jaime kissed her temple – _a new favourite spot to add to the list, right next to Oathkeeper freckle -_ and whispered, “No need to say it, I agree. But know they can hear every word we utter.” Understanding illuminated in the depths of her intelligent eyes, her mouth snapping shut and setting in an impassive line. 

“Ahem…Lord Selwyn.” The herald looked uneasy, clearing his throat. Behind him in the entryway stood a feeble but stern-faced old woman, dressed in the garb of the Faith. 

_What is this now? Bring on the next act in the Mummer’s farce._

“Let her in Rafe.” The Evenstar beckoned with his hand, stretching and patting the seat to his left, at the opposite end of the table to the royal couple. “She attends at my invitation.” 

Warily the ancient woman shuffled forward, leaning on a cane for support and sweeping the room with her squinty eyes. 

_Look at that – Selwyn knows the Crone herself. I wonder if she squints because she is half blind?_

Beside him, Brienne stiffened and sighed, her chagrin plain but patience inexhaustible. Swivelling in her seat, she reached out gingerly to take a decrepit arm. “Let me help you to your chair…”

“No!” The old woman shook off her assistance, surprisingly feisty and snappish for a servant of the Faith. “I can do it myself. I have been walking for seventy-eight years, I will not be made to appear incapable and frail.” 

“Yes Septa.” 

_Yes Septa?!_ Jaime’s eyebrows hit his hairline, noting Brienne’s sheepish acquiescence as she sat back down. _Not many could scold Brienne and have her concede so readily. This must be the one and the only…_

“Septa Roelle,” Seeing her refusal of Brienne’s aid, the Evenstar took it upon himself to settle the old woman into her chair. “I am so glad you accepted my invitation to join us.”

“I thank you Lord Selwyn.” She sniffed, incredibly haughtily. “Wine at the lunch table? Hmmnnn…” Her wrinkled face instantly turned to study the contents of Brienne’s goblet, checking that it did not contain liquor. 

“ _What_ is this?!” Cersei all but shrieked, her voice hitting an unnaturally shrill octave. “First I must contend with our uncouth brother, but now I am expected to dine with a common Septa?!” 

“Please Your Grace, allow me to explain…” Selwyn was calm and tolerant as he attempted to pacify the Queen. 

_My good-father has the patience of…I don’t think there is a comparison point worthy enough._

“…Lady Tarth - my precious wife - passed away in childbirth when Brienne was very young, leaving my daughter in need of a constant female presence in her life. Septa Roelle has been her governess and guide since she was but a little thing. Helping me to raise the accomplished young woman who sits before us today…” 

His twin scoffed and a small growl ripped from Jaime’s throat. Initially he thought it was only loud enough to be heard by him but when Brienne, Tyrion and Robert all turned to stare at him he hastily realised it was more thunderous than he had first intended.

“...For obvious reasons of rank and station, Septa Roelle could not have pride of place during the wedding festivities, but I thought seeming as this is an intimate, family-based setting, an exception could be made for the woman who was an integral figure in Brienne’s upbringing.” 

“Well you thought wrong.” Cersei stated callously. “I will not suffer this affront…”

“Oh do shut up woman!” Robert’s bellow even made Brienne flinch, her azure orbs flicking sideways towards Jaime warily. _She remembers what I told her about Robert’s temper._ "My skull is pounding and your incessant screeching hasn’t ceased since we first sat down!” 

_And I’m sure his own yelling is going to do wonders for his headache._

Mercifully the entire table quieted, Septa Roelle’s attendance accepted without further contestation, each guest too chastened to speak after the King’s fierce opposition to noise. The arrival of the food was a boon, a distraction from the absolute silence, the scraping of cutlery and occasional gulping of beverages the only sound in the tense room. 

But there were inaudible conversations taking place, brought to his attention by his wife’s glum expression, the defeated slant of her shoulders. Jaime peered across the table to see Septa Roelle’s glower, the old woman’s shrivelled lips twitching with the compulsion to issue a reprimand, gesticulating emphatically to the food sitting before Brienne. A crooked, pointing finger swiping the air to indicate ‘no’, punctuated by the shake of her head.

_Oh, no you don’t… my wife has worked up an appetite and we missed breakfast._

Picking up his own plate, Jaime positioned it so the porcelain edges overlapped with Brienne’s, using his stump beneath its base to tip it on a slant. 

_If I drop it, yes it will be embarrassing – but the goal is worth the risk._

Satisfied that it was balanced as securely as it was going to get, he proceeded to chase portions of his food onto her plate. 

_May as well, most of it I couldn’t cut anyway. I'm not parting with my cubed potatoes though… I like them, the seasoning is flavourful._

When he was done, several messy, mini mountains sat piled high in front of his wife, Brienne stifling her exasperated amusement by pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers whilst Septa Roelle watched on in horror. 

_Take heed – warriors need their meals._

He could foresee that scandalising and outraging the old hag was going to provide him with an endless source of entertainment in his new life. 

After a lengthy stretch of enduring hush, it was Tywin who cut the taut threads of the atmosphere. Seldom daunted and always eager to get back to business. “Well Selwyn, here we sit. The deal is finalised. The funds have exchanged hands – _seeming as that fact is no longer subject to discretion…”_ His piercing gaze fixed upon Jaime and his son countered by creating a show out of taking a forkful of potato and smiling as he chewed. 

_Fuming yet Father? I’m just getting started._

“…and we will be taking a good-daughter back to the Rock.” 

“Yes.” Selwyn’s face fell, plummeting to the floor with such despair it almost broke Jaime’s heart in two. 

_Fret not good-father, now’s my chance. The gold is safely in Tarth’s pockets, we have nothing to lose._

“Actually,” Jaime revelled in all eyes falling upon him, slowly sipping his wine and making them wait for the rest of his sentence. “I intend staying here upon Tarth.”

“I beg your _pardon?!”_ Tywin’s knife clamoured to the porcelain plate below.

“Terribly sorry Father, I was unaware your hearing has suffered in recent years. You mustn’t have heard me…” The younger lion bent at the waist, leaning closer across the tabletop, raising his voice an octave. “…I said that I intend staying here, at Evenfall. Living on Tarth – if they’ll have me. I confess Brienne and I had already decided our course of action without consulting with the Evenstar. I hope it is not an imposition Lord Selwyn…” 

“Of course not - stay! By all means, stay as long as you wish.” Selwyn’s eyes flooded with relief, his tone rejoicing. “This is Brienne’s home, her inheritance. Which means it is yours by right of marriage as well Lord Jaime. You are just as welcome as she is…” 

“And when _exactly_ was I being consulted about this?” Tywin balled his napkin in his fist, channelling his barely contained fury at being blindsided. 

“Well I need not confer with you Father. You have your business and I have mine. The only people it really concerns is Brienne and Lord Selwyn and they have both already agreed.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Jaime awaited the tirade, relishing the chaos. 

Beside him Tyrion sniggered, always a purveyor of defiance. Diagonally across from Jaime, Cersei gawked stupidly, her head bouncing from Father to twin-brother. Confusion writ all over her features as she tried to process a concept she had never pondered. 

_That Brienne would bring me joy – which is precisely what I’m about to say._

“I have come to the conclusion that I am very content here upon Tarth. I have my new wife Brienne,” taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles in a perfect image of knightly gallantry. “And I would move mountains if it would make her happy. Tarth has suffered as you all know and we intend to help the people recover and rebuild. Surely Father you cannot condemn such a noble cause?” 

“And your heirs?” Tywin demanded. “They must be born at the Rock.” 

“Why?” Jaime did not miss a beat. “Whether they be birthed here on Tarth or in the Westerlands, the same blood runs through their veins. They are no less lions if they are raised by the Straits instead of the Sunset Sea.” He grinned, pretending to pacify whilst about to deal a killing blow. “I assure you our Tarth-Lannister brood will be just as well cared for here as at Casterly Rock.” 

Tywin had been taking a sip of his wine, but at the mention of the double-barrelled family name he nearly spat it back into the goblet. A rare discomposure that transformed Tyrion’s quiet snickers into a guffaw. 

Steam was practically billowing out of the older lion’s ears, his voice guttural, hastily losing his battle to maintain equanimity. “ _What_ did you just say about my future grandchildren?” 

“I was iterating that they will likely flourish on Tarth’s rich soil – Brienne certainly did.” Jaime had little problem permeating his voice with the necessary cheer, his entire pantomime all too gratifying. 

“Not. That. Part.” _Look at that – if Father had fangs, he’d be baring them right now._

Brienne’s large hand settled on Jaime’s forearm, rubbing affectionately against his sleeve. “Husband…” 

_No, no Wench, please don’t rein me in. I know you are compassionate and honourable, but we discussed this remember? Our chance to have some fun with them and remind them that **we** are in control of our lives. _

“…in all fairness…” 

_She is a good woman. Too good for this world and I must not pout just because she chooses to temper my wicked impulses._

“…Lannister is the greater house _and_ it comes first alphabetically. Therefore, it should be Lannister-Tarth.” 

_I love her with every fibre of my fucking being._

She grinned at him so victoriously all he wanted was to kiss her. 

_And not the sweet kind, the kind where I plunder her mouth with my tongue, we tear off our clothes and ravish each other._

“You are of course correct my wife…” Placating his urges with a swift peck on her lips left him far from appeased, but he classified it as better than nothing. “…I am exceedingly fortunate to have your wise counsel.” 

“No – I am the lucky one.” 

Toying with his relatives was simply the icing on the cake, showcasing their relationship, pronouncing their love to all and sundry. It had taken some coaxing, his modest woman at first hesitant to agree to play along, reluctant to flaunt their serendipity, treating it as a treasure she would hide in order to protect. 

But Jaime felt they deserved their moment in the sun – to shout their love and attachment from the rooftops now that their union was set in stone, to be confident in what they shared and correct the fallacious beliefs of his family. 

Why shouldn’t his Father and Cersei know how their machinations had rebounded? These were the very people who had sought to inflict misery upon him, who were willing to use Brienne as a trading piece in their selfish collusion. 

If they would garner satisfaction from watching two people suffer, then they deserved to have that same smugness taken away. To be informed that their malevolent intent had resulted in greater bliss and fulfillment than either he or his effulgent wife could ever had hoped for. 

_The sheer fact that Brienne is joining me and contributing despite her innate reticence is proof alone of our bond. An act of love and solidarity._

_Even if she gets adorably bashful about boasting…_

The blush which stained her cheeks vouched for her genuine nature, alluding to the sincerity of the emotions behind their declarations. Her complexion emanating a soft pink glow, gradually deepening to a rosy hue under the withering stares of her captive audience, as she regulated her shallow breathing, mustering the courage to continue speaking. “A-And I…” 

_Do not let them get you tongue-tied my Sweetling. It is alright, they can wait on you. The words will come._

“…wish to thank all here present. For their forethought and insight in partnering us together. We make quite the pairing. In fact one could say…” Brienne’s blue marbles found his sister’s furious green wildfire. “…we are two halves of one whole.”

_I want to give her applause and a standing ovation._

Jaime could easily have swooned from the admiration his wife inspired within him. In awe of her magnificence and depth. 

_What she just achieved extends beyond what I ever envisaged, my games are trivial and small-minded by comparison. Brienne is singlehandedly righting wrongs, delivering lasting messages. Picking up the pieces of my ignominious past and fixing my broken life..._

He could see Cersei’s jaw working, her perfect teeth grinding within. Irate at hearing her own manipulative words turned back against her, weaponised by the very woman who she had considered her lesser in looks, station and intellect. Wielded with precision by the new Queen of his heart and soul – younger and more beautiful in mind, body and spirit. 

_Underestimation is foolish sister. What was it that you once said to me?_

_Ah yes – you made your bed – now lie in it._

And what a bed of nails Cersei had built for herself, a torture chamber with a throne in place of a latrine. Jailed in a cell of her own making where she couldn’t even scream to expel her wrath. Her gag was enforced by husband and father, her rage bound by the precarity of her crown. Shackles formed of duty and expectation, the threat of the executioner’s sword constantly looming overhead, the power she craved eternally dangling just out of her reach. A private Hell with a population of one, where fiends howled - ‘beware what you wish for’ and the plaque on the door read ‘Cersei Lannister - Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.’ 

_She can do nothing, say nothing. But if looks could kill, we would be dead meat._

_I count my Father in that as well. He is eerily quiet, probably plotting a counter attack. Too bad for him, it is time for my solo…_

“I would like to make a toast…” Jaime seized up his goblet, drawing their shocked and livid stares away from his beloved. “…To my Brienne. Even in the most elaborate of my dreams I could never have imagined a spouse so well suited to me. There is none who could better complement me, challenge me and ignite my ardour…” 

When he had begun speaking, a part of him had been worried they would think him false compared to Brienne’s guileless authenticity. Dismiss his impassioned speech as merely a man singing a pretty song for the sake of saving face. But he could hear the emotions from his heart imbuing themselves into every syllable, filling his testimony with earnestness and adoration. 

“…Please raise your chalices to my wife – the love of my life. Brienne...I look forward to spending every day by your side and in your arms.”

Custom dictated that when a toast was made, all were required to join in - raising their goblets high and drinking to the sentiment expressed. To deny such tradition was considered unforgivably rude. 

Therefore, he tried not to snicker when he heard Cersei nearly choke on her sip of wine. Regaining her poise only to guzzle the entire contents of the cup in a most unladylike fashion and instantly demand a refill. 

“That is all well and good son,” Tywin’s voice had an edge, but he had otherwise regrouped. “However, your choices are entirely unacceptable. You shall not be living on Tarth, nor will there be any amendments in the family name. You have duties in the West, you have duties at court - and so you shall proceed in the same manner as you have for years. Your wife is merely an addition, who must fit in to _our_ lifestyle.”

Jaime sighed, wondering when exactly he would learn his lesson and stop trying to appeal to the humanity within his glacial, unyielding Father. Discarding his disappointment and adapting his strategy, as he had innumerous times since he was a boy. 

_Time to roll the dice and see if a gamble pays off…_

“Father, I have no desire to quarrel with you. My spirits are high and I am luxuriating in all the benefits of being a newly married man. Therefore, as we cannot reach an agreement, I beg an outside judge. To call upon the wisdom of a higher official.” 

Rotating in his seat, Jaime looked Robert straight in the eye. “Your Grace, your intervention if you’d be so kind. It seems my Father and I have come to loggerheads and with your decree it is easily solved. Would you prefer that _I_ – Jaime Lannister – continue on as I have been? Dividing my time between Casterly Rock _and_ the Red Keep, attending court and being a part of your family’s daily activities?” 

_Do you hear me Robert? Surely you are not so large a fool as to miss what I’m saying. I was suspected of adultery, of incest. This is the perfect solution to remove me from the equation._

"Or perhaps you would prefer an extended break from my presence? Maybe even a permanent one? For me to remain on Tarth - _with my wife_ \- as I so wish...” 

“A splendid idea! Splendid!” Robert slapped his giant hand against his knee. “Stay here - on this island - with your woman. I think a change in scenery for you is overdue. There is no pressing requirement for you to be at court. If anything, it causes a bother having the Kingslayer around. I am sure both Tywin and Cersei will survive just fine without you.”

The almost undetectable raising of the older lion’s brows showed his recognition of the trap he had wandered into. The master tactician realising that to continue fighting would go against their original aim of removing suspicion.

“There you are Father.” Jaime smiled coolly. “As you told me not so long ago – if a notion is sanctioned by the King, it must be abided by.” 

“I did.” And there it was again. A begrudging respect behind Tywin’s ire. “Very well Jaime.”

_I won. This day is just getting better and better…_

“I actually had a suggestion as well husband...” How Brienne’s contralto managed to remain mellow amidst all the drama, Jaime could not fathom. But it was just another thing he adored about her, turning his head towards her to grant his undivided attention. “…can we not extend an invitation to Lord Tyrion and his wife Tysha? I would welcome the opportunity to become better acquainted with my good-brother and would be delighted to have a sister.” 

That was the moment his heart overflowed, the love he felt for her spilling over the edges and filling the rest of his body. Spreading its golden aura from the tips of his toes to the crease on his forehead, threatening to reduce him to a pile of blithering, dewy-eyed mush. 

_My little brother – she knows how much he means to me._

Between their morning bouts of lovemaking, they had talked. Jaime had learned about Galladon, Arianne and Alysanne and he in turn had told Brienne about Tyrion. 

_How I am the only one from our family who has ever shown him love. How Father relegates him to the shadows and views him with shame. How he refuses to acknowledge Tysha, nor give her the honourifics to which she is entitled by marrying a Lord. How Tyrion took the blame for Mother’s death._

_In one fell swoop – my Brienne countered all their cruelty. Exposing Father’s ruthless unforgiving soul, revealing Cersei’s shallowness. Recognising Tysha and making Tyrion feel important. Part of something greater, more meaningful. Just as she did for me…_

“You are brilliant.” His voice was quiet, moved. “I adore the idea.” Pivoting in his chair, he knew the answer before the query had left his mouth, taking in the gigantic smile plastered across his younger brother’s face. “Tyrion what do you think?” 

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly and Jaime could tell from his uncharacteristically concise response, that Tyrion too was touched by her inclusiveness. “I will send for Tysha straight away and simply stay on here without departing – if that suits?” 

“The more the merrier.” Selwyn was chuffed, still euphoric after learning he wouldn’t have to bid Brienne farewell. 

“We can make the jollification last for moons…” Jaime planned aloud; his tone tinged with excitement. 

_But wait, I am forgetting important details. As fun as this will be – the smallfolk come first._

“…However Tyrion, you must know upfront that it will not all be fun and games. I mentioned earlier that Brienne and I intend helping Tarth rebuild and we mean it. Manual labour, hands-on-” Lifting his stump lamely he chuckled. “- Or hand-on in my case…” 

To his delight, Brienne reached across, taking his wrist in her hands and placing a kiss upon his scar. Across from them, Cersei recoiled, grimacing in disgust – but her repulsion had no effect on either husband nor wife. 

Jaime did not attempt to reclaim nor hide his disfigurement, instead relaxing his arm in Brienne’s gentle fingers as she guided his wrist to her chest, holding his stump happily against her heartbeat. Stroking the puckered skin whilst the conversation continued. 

“…Either way it will be hard work, and we will be absent frequently if you choose not to join us in our endeavours.” 

“I am not in the least dissuaded - and as if I would elect not to participate!” Tyrion assured, sounding quite enthused at the prospect. “Although – like you – I’m not certain how much help I’ll be at the heavy lifting, but don’t forget I’ve studied sewer systems. I redesigned the drainage at Casterly Rock and oversaw the cisterns. Perhaps I can help with that aspect of construction…”

“That would be excellent – if you do not mind taking such a large responsibility.” Brienne chimed in. “We need to ensure the mines do not flood again and that if the villages are inundated, the water can be channelled away. Your expertise could be put to very good use.” 

“I’m happy to! I thrive off a challenge.” 

“What about Tysha?” Brienne enquired kindly. “Will she be displeased by the amount of time it takes you away from her? I would hate for her to be left at loose ends in a strange place-” 

“Not at all.” Tyrion laughed, the affection for his own wife evident. “My Tysha will gladly chip in and help wherever she can. She is a crofter’s daughter, very used to working. Why for the opportunity to stay on a beautiful island such as this, she might even gladly trade me in…” 

“You speak drivel, Tysha loves you.” Jaime chortled. “But on the topic of love, now that you’re staying on – can you kindly maintain your distance for this first sennight? You can keep Selwyn company. My wife and I intend _celebrating_ our marriage to its _fullest…_ ” 

The roll of his tongue made the innuendo plain and Brienne emitted a mortified squeak. Dropping his wrist to bury her face in her hands, red blotches extending down her speckled chest, her ears burning crimson where they peeked through the veil of her hair. 

Jaime couldn’t resist pressing a swift kiss to the heated shell. “Sorry sweetling but he had to know – we are entitled to some semblance of a honeymoon.” 

Brienne nodded behind her hands, a muffled ‘I understand’ escaping between her speckled fingers. 

_So demure my wench, but I notice you didn’t object nor deny. You crave our intimacy as much as I do. I am ever so glad I introduced you to the fun of lust. Now if only I could find as excuse to impart that knowledge to your ancient shrew of a Septa…_

“Why wasn’t I invited to stay?” Their little party was shattered by an indignant voice. Cersei bristling and furrowing her brow like a petulant child. The insult of their snub temporarily taking precedence over her anger. “ _I_ am your sister. _I_ am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Most are clamouring for my company, would kill to have me grace their pitiful little festivities with my presence… ” 

_She is too much. She despises us all, treats us with contempt and yet still expects an invitation._

_Cersei has no interest in our philanthropic pursuits, nor in our company. She just cannot abide the idea that we would find her loathsome and taxing. Somehow, she honestly believes that everyone either loves her or wants her._

“I am aware you are my twin-sister Cersei - believe me I could never forget that fact…”

Tyrion covered his mirth by feigning a hiccup. 

“…but you have a throne and duties as Queen. I would never be so bold as to take you away from them. We know how _important_ they are to you.” 

_Not to mention that you would be signing your own death-warrant and making your husband believe there was a dalliance between us._

_Is that your aim here? Your play for vengeance? If so, it is grievously flawed. For a woman who thinks herself smart, you make some very stupid moves._

“What about the children?” Brienne ventured. “Surely they would miss their Mother?” 

“Yes – good point.” Jaime praised his wife for her quick thinking. “You must not forget your ever-growing family Cersei. Father and the Crown both place the utmost of priority in heirs.” 

_Dare I push my luck just a little further? Yes, I think I might. Let’s nip her misguided play for retribution in the bud…_

The servers were clearing away the plates and Jaime cupped his hand over his stump, leaning upon the table and addressing Lord Tywin directly. 

_If I do this right, I might even smooth over a bit of his pique with me._

“There’s a concept Father – wouldn’t it be delightful if there were a whole pride of lion cubs on the way at once? Such a thought is not impossible…” 

“Well _that_ would please me.” Tywin averred with unequivocal conviction. “The Lannister legacy must live on.” 

“For once we see eye to eye.” Jaime asserted. “And I assure you - Brienne and I will work upon contributing. Tyrion and Tysha should get to work as well, they had a considerable head start they failed to make use of and I’m confident my wife and I will overtake them…” 

Brienne tittered softly, her shoulder bumping against his at it jounced. 

_Another thing we discussed this morning – our likelihood of conceiving if we continued recklessly frolicking, cross-referencing and uncovering our mutual desire for children. Which is propitious as my seed has already been well and truly planted in her belly. Multiple times._

_Not that it will stop us from continuing to try, we are nothing if not diligent…_

“Is this a bet?” Tyrion banged his fist against the table. “Because I will accept it! You’re on.” 

Tywin watched them carefully and Jaime could see his brain ticking within. Trying to anticipate where his older son was headed with this line of conversation. 

_You are about to find out Father._

Jaime’s smirk was sharper than Valyrian as he volunteered another recommendation. 

“…and isn’t it past time Cersei gave Robert another babe?” 

“Yes.” Both the King and his Father answered simultaneously and Cersei blanched. Her already naturally pale complexion draining of colour until it was ashen. 

Out of the corner of his vision Tywin caught Jaime’s eye, nodding once in approval. 

_If Cersei gives Robert a child which is unquestionably his – it secures her position and removes the cloud of doubt. Let’s just hope it turns out blonde…_

“If their Graces wish to focus upon heir-making, we would gladly extend our hospitality here for a week or so.” Lord Selwyn may not have been entirely apprised of the goings on, but he was incredibly astute. “I could suggest a stay at our inland estate in the mountains, it was spared the ravages of tide and tempest, and would ensure uninterrupted privacy.” 

“I…” Cersei stuttered in a panic, the poetic justice of it filling Jaime with glee. _She made my Brienne stumble, she lead the chorus of ridicule. But now who’s laughing?_ “I…” 

“You adore your children daughter.” Tywin shushed her harshly. “You would be thrilled to have another.” 

“Of course – nothing would bring me greater joy.” Cersei’s delivery was at stark contrast with the sentiments being expressed as she refilled her wine cup for the third time and began drinking heavily. 

“Well whatever you decide, we will be out of your way. Unlikely to cross paths or be underfoot.” Jaime reaffirmed. “We need alone time too…” 

This time when he kissed his wife, she was brave, reciprocating the press of his lips generously but tastefully. Touching noses before they pulled away and grinning at each other’s cleverness. Stabilizing the scales of their lives which had been out of balance for years, drawing strength from one another and proving a powerful force to be reckoned with. 

Out of newly acquired habit, Jaime reached up, caressing Brienne’s cheek and threading her straw-blonde hair behind her ear. Realisation of what he’d done only dawning when she bit her lip to keep from exclaiming, blue spheres almost bursting out of her head. 

The passion marks upon his new wife’s alabaster throat lay in plain sight, their vivid red and purple appearing in incriminating circles, perfectly sized to match his mouth. The beard grazes were raised and bright. Their inflammation made more prominent by Brienne’s resulting fiery blush, fuelling them from beneath like a spring-fed lake.

Across the table, Septa Roelle gasped. Catching herself upon the table edge to prevent falling off her chair in a faint. Muttering prayers to the Maiden and Mother as she clutched for her glass of water with shaking hands, gulping desperately before lowering it again so her digits could fly to her face, covering it in dismay and appal. 

Beside the overdramatic old crone, Selwyn shifted himself awkwardly sideways. Bushy eyebrows knitting together as he subtly averted his gaze, trying to ignore the very existence of the unseemly marks. By contrast Tywin was entirely indifferent, his expression stony and set. 

Robert and Tyrion laughed, whilst Cersei’s mouth nearly hit the floor, gaping open in speechless shock. 

_Oh look, sweet sister is catching flies. Our work here is done._

“Brienne,” Jaime whispered. “I think that’s our cue.” Stifling an exaggerated yawn, he declared. “If you would all be so kind as to excuse us. I’m afraid I am most worn out from last night…” 

When his wife’s blush intensified threefold he swiftly added. 

“…from the festivities of course…” He knew it was pointless, all had deduced the true reason for his fatigue. “…And I must conserve the last of my energy.” 

Kissing Brienne on the cheek he murmured to her. “Forgive me the announcement? It is the most pleasant kind of exhaustion. And in the latter statement I was genuinely referring to our prior commitment rather than between the sheets.” 

“You told them nothing they had not already figured out about our bedroom escapades. There is nothing to forgive.” She fixed her eyes on the exit and he knew that her restless spirit yearned to escape to the yard. “But can we leave?” 

“Immediately.” _I long for it too._

Gathering themselves up from the table, Brienne smiled politely, always remembering her manners – especially in the presence of her severe Septa. 

“Thank you for your attendance and support – however we must be going.” She bunched her skirts in her hands in preparation to flee and he knew her dress was about to be traded for her leathers. 

The lion Lord offered a gracious bow. “Yes, by all means, continue the luncheon without us – but my beloved and I have a rendezvous we must keep.”

Offering Brienne his elbow, Jaime smiled when his wife threaded her arm through his, the long outlines of their shadows painting an ethereal picture across the table and the floorboards. Their silhouettes framed by the light spilling through the open double doors. 

An unorthodox Lord and his unconventional Lady. A Knight and his Swordswench. An individualistic man and his singular woman. An arranged couple who fell in love. Two misunderstood souls that ultimately united and completed each other.

_Never will we be typical, but who would wish to be?_

_We are the glad champions of our own extraordinary love._

Proudly they strode from the room arm in arm, living and embracing their own unique definition of courtly romance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I have never written a sequel before, so I was thrilled that so many of you jumped on board to continue in the universe of 'With All My Faults and Merits'.  
> I will return with more stories in the not too distant future! :) 
> 
> And once again, Happy Birthday ilikeblue! <3


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